Pianoforte
by Yoshiyuki Ly
Summary: Musical, stylized stream-of-consciousness. No real plot. 7th year AU.


**Note: **Stylized experimentation with third person, 10/2008.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own HP.

* * *

Look too hard, you won't see a thing. Tread softly and play everything, SEE everything; speed and preciseness will develop on its own. That is – if you think you're playing too hard, tone it down.

You're not the only one listening

i. grave; (slowly, with solemnity.)

A strange thing Muggle Studies can bring about in a place so damp and dreary. Hogwarts, in all its grandeur, could never once think for someone other than itself. Housing the many minds it does, it never once harbored the wonderment of something as simple as simplicity itself – strings and hammers. Tears and slammers. Tunes and jammers.

But no, no; a Wizarding education is simply that – an education. To Hogwarts, that's all it is and all it ever will be. Not the engrossment of a world beyond its world, for fear of losing the minds of the students it so desperately clings to. An education beyond an education was so farfetched, but gathering so many students and things that do not agree with each other was not.

Students, and outsiders. Most especially said outsiders.

—

The outside troubles can only go for so long without being forgotten – Voldemort and the war, Hogwarts and its defenses; they clashed vigorously in the ninety-seventh odd year of that century. But it's quite possible to find solace in the strangest of places. Places new and old, but most especially, in old places allowing new residents.

Rooms, instruments, and a certain caliber and thirst for knowledge, is more powerful than power itself.  
Power, however thirsty one might grow for it, crumbles in the presence of earnest will. A somber cry for help, and yet no one's ears are in tune to hear her. A willowy stride of confidence, and yet all are blind to its falsity.

But no one is all, and all is one. One double-take to hear that subtle tone; one blink and deep process of false information.

One harmony

—

Security. How boring. Use of wands and wits to ward off potential threats; so mundane. Working for the Order seemed so much more ostentatious when one was, in fact, not working for them.  
But, Orders were Orders, and Fleur Delacour most certainly had them and more. It was just such a tedious thing – keeping an eye out for danger that would never rear its haughty head round the corner.  
Or perhaps its bushy-haired one.

Keys dangled at her hips as she trudged through the clammy corridors of the first floor, clearly not attracting any attention to herself. Her wand lay nestled in the nook of her palm, carefully wrapped around the rosewood, tapping it on her folded arm across her chest, not at all in time to her ginger steps. There was something else drawing her ire; her irritation at actually having to do her job and clean up after the messes the Prefects and Heads didn't bother with.

But, strangely, just as the quarter Veela neared the source of her annoyance; it somehow wrapped around her ears and made her brow unhinge itself from her striking features. Furious thoughts, not just with her job, but with other bothers, mangled into a deep-set haze that fluttered through her meticulous head. Noise suddenly became a thin clatter of a different set of keys.

Keys that seemed to unlock her curiosity, if not for more than a moment. That was all they asked for, and that was all she could give. Nothing more.

A fantasia. Careful tones, careful steps. Not too hard, not too loud; you'll scare someone if you keep going like that.

It was enough to bring her to the passageway just by the Muggle Studies classroom – a new part of the castle, a sanctuary down under that housed rooms upon rooms for practicing. Fleur ambled down the steps, keys and chains still dangling away, wand now dangling helplessly at her side; they hang forgotten. Closer she drew to the sound, the fantasia of dulcet and rugged tones. Nearer she was pulled to the one room numbered three seventeen – the only room housing anyone so early in the morning.

It was one already; her shift was over. But the sounds were too enticing. Louder still they grew, and more muffled her mind became with the sweet tang of resonances and hums. The player was inexperienced but knew all the right notes. Fleur did not know this song, but she was skilled enough in the art.

But the song knew her though, what about the person? Who was playing?

She nearly forgot about the who and the what of everything. The harmony was making her eyes grow heavy, more so than her fascination with the echoes through the corridor. It was the allure that made her eyelids droop and flutter. The draw of the music that made her knees grow weak, finally convincing her steadfast mind to let her sit against the door and sigh.

Taking a break so easily, hum? Just like a mockingbird drawn to the victim, it seems. Rest your head and un knit that forehead – it's screaming for a break.

Fleur wondered aimlessly how Hogwarts could house such talent. She wanted to know who it was, but there was something mysterious about not knowing. Appreciating the music, and not the musician, brought her the most comfort.

Of course, there was a certain scorn at her own curiosity – she felt like a marionette for the musician, drawing her in so easily with something as simple as delicate and strong point hammers on strings. She was suddenly very much aware at how much her own strings were hammering; in her heart. The fantasia was so in time with her heartbeat, something she never realized was there, that it made her purr a small groan of reprieve.

How magical.

The inexpertly flawless pianist made her nod off that morning, easily letting her forget the chills of the damp castle, replacing them with chills of wonderment. The serenade was soothing; it made her forget the toils of everyday life and death. The cool made her skin go numb; the moist made her mind congeal it all into comforting warmth.

Ignorance is bliss, but music knows all. Musicality is innate, romantically or otherwise. Fleur most certainly felt herself remembering why she found solace in the thing magic had taken away from her; what magic didn't believe in.

Music

—

Sunlight poured through her lids, prodding her from her dreamless sleep. Fleur looked about; her keys and wand lay on her bedside table. A bit of her silken hair, and night-time saliva, shimmered on her Hogwarts-issued pillow, and she shook her locks after grabbing the sheds and spritzing them about on the floor. She could hardly remember getting back up to walk to her chambers, let alone waking up. But why had she fallen asleep in the first place?

The music

Fleur raised a fair hand to her mouth as she yawned her drowsiness away, eyes finally settling on a piece of parchment by her wand and keys. She glided a hand over to the russet, picking it up carefully and reading it with a lazy precision that perfected with each neatly coiled word she took in.

_It seems the security cat fell asleep on the job. Don't worry – I haven't stolen any of your things. But perhaps I should report you. As Head Girl, I'm allowed to stay and go anywhere I please. I do hope you remember that. No one else in the right mind would be up so late playing the piano. And you, for sleeping on the job, must not be in the right mind, either. I trust that I'll find you again and prove a point.  
_

_Sweet dreams,_

_Harmony._

Harmony? Fleur shook her head; it was Hermione. Head Girl, and apparent piano prodigy, was the one playing. It was the Seventh Year Gryffindor that, most likely, levitated her here and tucked her into bed. Quite comfortably at that

_P.S. – You drool when you sleep. It's rather unattractive for someone like you. I suggest you do something about it._

Fleur chuckled unceremoniously; the girl always held a certain indignation about herself whenever it came to the French woman. Fleur vaguely toyed with herself and wondered if either of them understood the roots of their odd dislike for the other. Not that it mattered; Fleur was hardly concerned about the girl's almost childish disdain towards her.

Her harmony, though, was another story.

A harmony of black and white, soft and strident Take away the color from their eyes, and all one would see is black and white.

But subtract the strident from their personalities and one would only find the soft and svelte mounds of forgotten compassion. It was too bad they were both so musical.

Musicians hate math, after all

ii. appassionato (to play passionately)  
Hermione sat in Fleur's chambers and watched as she awoke and took heed of her surroundings. She didn't know why she was watching the woman so intently. She had no idea why it was so fascinating to watch her read the note, and laugh, almost bitterly, at her words. The Gryffindor wore a nonchalant expression, save for the exasperation making her feel bloated.

Fleur didn't even notice the girl on the other side of the room as she floated over to her armoire to ready herself for the day. Hermione had to admit that she was surprised to find Fleur's willowy body slither to the marble floor at her feet when she opened the door to that practice room that morning.  
But any 'surprise' with feeling her eyelids constrict and suck the life out of her eyes as she observed Fleur move about was non-existent. The morning sunlight was a bastard, getting to graze over Fleur's body like that

Fleur's single, beautiful, available, probably straight and not interested, body.

Hermione's thoughts grew spiteful; she hadn't been able to sleep that morning. But Fleur fell asleep with such ease at just listening to her play the piano. That made her feel accomplished. Lacking, but still accomplished. She felt quite lacking at that very second, though

Fleur had removed her shirt, and was now rummaging around, gracefully and carefully, to find a new one in her armoire. Hermione's eyes betrayed her all over again. Never mind her watching the woman for hours as she slept. But seeing Fleur with little covering that illegality of a beautiful torso she had was infuriating.

Infuriatingly sweet and satisfying

Hermione let out an automatic irritated sigh, and her brows only creased as she watched Fleur slowly turn towards the source with a mildly curious expression on her visage. It was all Hermione could do to forget the battles she'd had with herself for so long. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months  
Loving Fleur was not alright, but seeing a hint of surprise on her features slowly dissolve into something of mock indifference was. It should have been the other way around, but that's not how things worked anymore. Nothing worked as it should have when it came to Fleur. It made her mad. It made her someone else.

It made her just want to forget.

That did indeed happen whenever she played. Letting her hands have an affair with the swirls of vanilla and dark chocolate, or so she amused herself with, instead of the cream of Fleur, was her release. But it was never enough

Fleur was still looking at her. Hermione was still looking back, pretending to be mildly angry about everything. Though, she could have sworn she saw a flicker behind Fleur's eyes. A glint of question? To Hermione or to herself.

What could she possibly want? Hermione couldn't ask with her lips or her eyes; neither seemed to want to move from their stagnant places. Funny how her face worked sometimes.

She didn't know how long they'd been staring at the other, but Hermione did note that, after an hour, or maybe a month, she didn't know, Fleur was gone. The sound of water could be heard from the loo.  
Hermione was, once again, thinking spitefully about something that never even did anything to her. Shower water. How rich.

She should leave. This was ridiculous. She'd just made a fool of herself, and Fleur had even gotten some amusement out of it. But, for some reason, Hermione didn't mind. She told herself she'd be perfectly content with just watching Fleur for the rest of her days. Hermione didn't think herself to be much to look at, but Fleur did stare back for quite a while.

It must have been quite a long time; the sun was no longer peering through the window. The water was still running, but Hermione's body refused to do the same. Her mind most certainly was, though.  
Her feet needed to do the same

—

Hermione begrudged herself for her indulgence when she finally fled from Fleur's room; she missed half of her classes that day, but it didn't matter. She decided to just sleep in; an odd exhaustion was creeping around her body and she wished it would stop.

But try as she might in her own quarters, sleep refused to grant her any release. Half of her was reprimanding herself for fleeing while Fleur was still in the shower. The other half was scolding herself for not busting down the door and joining her.

This was absurd. Preposterous. Hermione lay with her eyes closed all that day, but they never really closed. It was a frustration that she felt from time to time, but it seemed to have grown tenfold ever since the Order came to Hogwarts. She and Fleur never shared a word; everyone else did the talking for them. They were quite aware that the two weren't exactly the best of friends.

But Hermione could most certainly recall just watching Fleur from the shadows as she went on her rounds. From nine at night to one in the morning, that was all she would do – just watch. Fleur only ever spotted her once, and she probably only brushed it off to her Head Girl duties.

Though, Hermione noticed that Fleur may have been brushing off just a few other things. Watching her for these long weeks have clued Hermione into the woman's strange fatigue and disdain she showed while she thought herself to be alone.

Again, she recognized that flicker in the woman's eyes. Something was there. Not attraction, heavens no. A cry for help, quite possibly.

Hermione most certainly needed help herself. Over the weeks, she'd been plotting, amusing herself with convenient moments to corner Fleur, kiss her senseless, then run away and act like nothing had ever happened. Professor Snape had even given Hermione an essay back, with a big T on the top, for obviously mixing up cornering women and shaving asphodel with the right corners. She had no idea what she was thinking, handing that in, let alone writing it.

Luckily, Snape hadn't said anything else to her about it. He merely suggested that she spend some quality time in her own corner of the castle, perfecting her cornering skills. He may have even muttered something about Fleur's sculpted face having hard corners. Hermione didn't know, nor did she care.  
She had a plan now, and that was all she cared about. It was just so annoying to long for someone so shallow and self-centered. But still so beautiful. So radiant. Glowing with passion.

Fleur was probably the one thing Hermione wouldn't learn how to play for a very long time. If ever. But she was definitely willing to try. Sitting down with a new piece of sheet music never hurt anyone.

Paper cuts might have been abundant, but Hermione was willing to take a chance. She wasn't entirely sure that Fleur would ever feel the same way, but wallowing behind low probabilities wasn't doing her any good.

She suddenly found that she hated math. And Fleur.

iii. ritenuto; (slightly slower; temporarily holding back.)

Fleur sat in the Great Hall, eating dinner as per usual. Minerva was trying to strike up casual conversation as to not seem rude, but the Frenchwoman was hardly interested. She was scanning the Hall for Hermione, who appeared not to be in the room.

A sigh escaped her lips as she set her fork down. Hermione sounded rather distressed in her note. Fleur reached in her pocket and retrieved the parchment, reading it over a fifth time.

I'm terribly sorry to bother you, but I've been meaning to speak to you for ages now. I'm sorry for staying in your room without welcome. I really need to talk to you. Or, well, I'd like it if you talked to me. You seemed rather out of it for a second in your chambers. Just know that you can confide in me if you so desired. I think we both need that from each other.

Just step out of your comfort zone with me. I think you'll feel better when you do.

Fleur surveyed the room once again – Hermione's auburn locks were nowhere to be found. Dejectedly, Fleur rose from her seat, unintentionally garnering the attention of everyone in the Hall just as Hermione walked in. Fleur found this rather anti-climactic, but went over to the Gryffindor anyway, all eyes on her as she floated down the aisle to the double doors.

Hermione was quite sharp to notice the distress the older woman was dealing with. It was just such a pain to be in such a large castle with such a small network for outlets – herself. Gabrielle was busy with school; Fleur couldn't possibly pester her younger self for relief. The other adults actually enjoyed the others' company; Fleur rather detested them.

But why was Hermione now concerned about her well-being? She certainly appeared to be rather shifty as she stood rooted to the spot, watching Fleur walk towards her, along with everyone else in the Hall. Fleur suddenly felt very anxious about the attention. And the way Hermione was looking at her.

The walk took forever, as did Hermione's lungs, finally telling themselves to visibly let herself breathe. Fleur grew concerned over this. This certainly wasn't like Hermione at all. Or perhaps she was just as nervous about the attention they were both receiving – many students' attention had turned to Hermione for being so lucky to be in Fleur's walkway.

But the tinge of magenta Fleur found on Hermione's cheeks as she approached her was very odd. As was the way the girl was obviously telling her face to scowl; it just wasn't working. Fleur held back a frown and a smile, both at the same time. Though, the whispers she heard were dangerously tipping the frowning in her favor

Did you feel that? The way everything stopped right as Granger walked in the room?

Well yeah. And the way they were looking at each other the whole time. There somethin' goin' on we don't know about?

I reckon so. But did you feel that other thing? The look in their eyes. Even now.

That Hermione Granger. I remember Terry telling me he saw her stalking Fleur a few nights in a row during rounds.

Why aren't they saying anything?

I dunno. Maybe it's one of those moments. Too in love to say a word—

Where would you like to go, Mademoiselle Granger? Fleur asked audibly.

Hermione was flushed. Fleur was irritated by the attention they were garnering. She clearly wasn't informed about a thing or two going on with Hermione.

See, they do like each other. They probably meet up in private every night. No wonder we hardly ever see them here—

Mademoiselle Granger? Fleur queried, a little louder than before.

I wonder if Granger has the guts to finally make a move

Nah, she's too shy. So much for our Head Girl.

The murmurs increased in volume, and Hermione's magenta was ever increasing in surface area across her meek face. Fleur knew better than to bother listening to the teenage gossip that infested the old castle, but it was all making a lot of sense. Was this what Hermione wanted to tell her?

My room, Hermione mumbled, quickly making her leave as the conversations grew even louder. Fleur followed her without judging any coincidences lining up.  
—

They reached Hermione's dormitory in a manner of minutes, during which the girl seemed as if she were scurrying about the halls instead of walking. Fleur's long strides helped her to keep up, but she was still somewhat out of breath. Just as she closed her eyes and leaned against the door to swallow needed air, her hand was yanked, forcing her in the general direction of Hermione's bed. Fleur shrugged and sat down.

Mademoiselle Granger, why are you acting so strangely tonight?

Lay down.

Fleur gave Hermione a hard look before shaking her head and lying down on top of the duvet. It was oddly comfortable. Hermione took the liberty of removing both of their shoes before lying in Fleur's arms. Though she found it rather strange, Fleur wrapped her arms around the younger girl, waiting for an explanation.

While she waited, her ears perked up – there was music playing. Piano. It sounded like it was coming from underneath the pillow. Chopin, perhaps. One of his Preludes, Fleur presumed. Her breathing immediately calmed down, and she felt a comforting wave overtake her. Though, she couldn't sleep at the moment – she and Hermione were supposed to be talking.

Why wasn't she talking?

M—

Fleur's words tumbled in her mouth, unable to leave her. Hermione's mouth was blocking her words, giving her so much more than just a speech impediment. Shock and understanding surged through her in the form of Hermione's breaths down her throat. Surprise poured through her like Hermione's desperation driving out of her with her kiss

So the rumors were true.

This is what Hermione wanted to talk about. This is what she meant when she suggested stepping out of her comfort zone.

Fleur was too dazed to kiss her back or even shove her off. So many questions of how and why kept prodding her, cutting off her common sense. Hermione was trying to keep this note going on forever. She kept pressing her lips softly against Fleur's, but still exploring her mouth with such a solid curiosity and desire that it made Fleur's defiance evaporate. She couldn't even remember to keep any at all, let alone wonder what she felt.

Just as the question came to mind, Hermione pulled away. The music underneath the pillow seemed to stop. Fleur's mind also came to a halt – she knew what she felt. Nothing. Nothing but a modest surprise that made her stomach churn.

Hermione didn't say a word, but her eyes spoke enough. Her fingers playing in successive motions, almost like on a keyboard against Fleur's face. It was interesting how Hermione was not holding back at all. But she should have. She was supposed to be shy and introverted when it came to these things, because that was how she was labeled.

Fleur was also labeled to be appropriately hissing and spitting and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand at that very moment. She instead chose to rip off her label and go along with this, just to see where it would lead. Hermione was certainly being bold enough for Fleur's humble surprise and liking.

Besides, breaking down the walls of the ever-cautious goody two shoes Hermione Granger was very noteworthy. Very very noteworthy indeed.


End file.
